Artemis vs Milk Carton
by owlreader
Summary: a 4-8 year old artemis battles inanimate objects. are they bombs? do they have the ability to perform simple cognitive functions? lets watch artemis find out. oneshots, just drabble.
1. Chapter 1

I stared at the blue and white carton, willing it to submit

I stared at the blue and white carton, willing it to submit. It didn't. I gingerly touched it, making it slide over a few inches. I could hear the milk sloshing inside. Was it a bomb? Would I explode in my face, turning my skin into a pockmarked war ground? I eased my left thumb underneath the arch, tensing, and waiting for a sonic BOOM that would mark the end. Nothing happened.

"Artemis!" I look up, annoyed that someone has entered into my private thoughts.

"Go away, you imbecile!" I say, calmly, controlling my inner turmoil. This milk carton is oh, so suspicious. The voice backed away. The person whom the voice must have belonged to sighed, saying,

"I am just putting a tray of cookies here, it _is _your 4th birthday, after all."

I place my right thumb next to my left, easing my index fingers to the opposite side so I could have some leverage. I could see the end, oh so close. Yet, something was suspicious about the abnormally wet carton. I do not know if it is ok to open. I apply gentle pressure, hearing a soft _scrrrrrrrrrrrit_ as the cardboard ripped open. I inspected the tear, carefully picking away the debris left over from the imperfect incision. A small flap of paper held the opening of the carton closed. I examined it, carefully. I carefully cut it away, pulling the fold of cardboard out, making it into a perfect V shape. I raised the drink to my lips, savoring the perfect taste of ice-cold milk, straight from the bomb-free carton.

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_i think that this is just drabble, but anyway. did you like it? please review!!_


	2. Chapter 2

Artemis Vs

Artemis Vs. pencil sharpener

I'm bored…I need something to do…..ah! I'll sharpen my pencil!!

I walked around my prey, stalking it with the ease of a practiced hunter. It stood stock still, a gaping hole in the middle of its red and black striped head. The shape of the sharpener is rectangular, the perfect casing for a small, automatic bomb. Maybe I should call Butler…. No, I am Artemis Fowl and we do _not_ back down, ever! I carefully plug it in, hugging my Da Vinci Code I'd gotten for my last birthday (my 5th ) to my chest in protection from what could be an untimely end to a fruitful life. Nothing happens. Sighing a small sigh of relief, I walk to the back of the sharpener, placing my hand on the top, closing my eyes and feeling for vibrations as Butler taught me to check for timed bombs. Nothing….Wait!……no, nothing. I walk quickly to the front of the table. I shove my pencil in with my left hand, my other hand covering my head as I cower underneath the table.

_"_Artemis? Artemis!! What on earth are you doing?" _ah, Butler. _

"Nothing Butler. Everything is perfectly fine."

"But you are underneath the table like the pencil sharpener is about to blow up or something." He says. Well he _does_ have a point….

"I'm fine" I say, standing up and brushing off my suit. (yes, they do make suits for 5 year olds) Butler turns to go, and I change my mind quickly about something.

"Butler, wait!" he turns back to me, with a queer look.

"Is there a bomb in my pencil sharpener?" I ask, breathless for the reply. My pencil spins in the sharpener, creating a horrible grating noise. I gingerly pull it out, then hurry away from it and behind Butler.

"No, why?"

"Why do you want to know?" I challenge. He looks at me and gently pushed me out of the way.

I'm bored again……


	3. Chapter 3

Would you believe that such a thing as a traditional bow and a Plexiglas arrow would be so hard to use

Would you believe that such a thing as a traditional bow and a Plexiglas arrow would be so hard to use? My mother and father are forcing me to take lessons, now that I am 6 years of age. They say it will give me a 'well rounded childhood, plus more childhood friends that I will cherish forever and ever.' Like that would _ever _happen. No child alive has the intellect that could compare to me. At any rate, I am now being forced to take archery lessons three times a week for a hour, then practice for half and hour. And just to make myself _perfectly_ clear, I did everything I could to try and make these lessons go away. For instance, I went out and made myself eat chocolates until I was sick. Then, I tried catching the flu from Juliet, but my flu shot worked too well. Just when I was at my wits end, the lessons started and my mother and father were adamant. So, here I am, holding my bow in my right hand and pulling away at the arrow with my left.

When I had resigned myself to death by archery, I had decided to read up on the subject as best I could. I mean, if I don't have the option of _not_ doing something, I may as well do the best that I can with it, correct? So I read an original copy of Robin Hood, but it was not of much help. Then I started to 'surf the net' as the teens of this era like to call it, or so I am informed. I found an extremely helpful video on YouTube, and I practiced with the new bow that my father had purchased. Oh, if it is of any interest to you, the draw weight on it was 10 pounds. Anyway, I drew the arrow back with the tips of my fingers placed on the string, not grasping the arrow as it is commonly believed. I practiced for the good part of the day, and then was loaded into the car to begin my unfortunate training session.

The lesson was long, and hard. My bow kept acting up, and I could only assume that we are all mistaken when we say objects are inanimate, because it is so _very_ clear that my bow had a mind of its own! For instance, I tried to draw it back like I had practiced, and the arrow flew off even before I had released the string. Then, I was trying to calculate the angle I would need to shoot the bow at to be able to hit the target a good distance away, when the bow string slipped off, hitting me in the face and leaving a long, angry red mark. When I had finally completed my equation weighing the distance, wind, power, and weight, I was ready to shoot. I shot the arrow up, slightly, and my teacher came over and told me that the shot had been very fine; just I was supposed to shoot at the target, not _over it_. I then told her that if she would turn around and take a look at the target, she would see an arrow imbedded in its center. She started to laugh and turned around to look, when my bow jumped inexplicably out of my hands and hit her very hard on the head. She slumped to the ground, senseless, and my mother rushed me away before anybody could press charges.

As you can see, you must never, _ever_ trust a bow and arrow. They do, for lack of a more sophisticated word,_ have intelligence, and _use _it!_ Trust me. (or should you?)

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_sorry that this one isn't as good...maybe i'm having a bad day. :)_


	4. Chapter 4: Artemis vs Ants

Artemis vs. Insect

The ants hurried about their business, taunting me. Why are they there? Then I remember. I ate some caviar the other day. I must have spilled. Mother will not like it if we have an infestation, so, I must spray it with bug spray, correct? I quickly went downstairs, grabbed a large can of Raid, some Windex, some natural killer, some antibiotic soap, and a large bottle of water. Struggling upstairs, I relieved myself of my load on my table. First, I sprayed the whole can of Raid onto the small pile of spilled fish eggs. Then, I sprayed the whole bottle of Windex on, just to make sure. The Ants stilled, but I wanted to make sure that they would stay down. After all, I must eliminate my enemies before they have a chance to hit me back. Then, I poured the natural killer over it all. My rug was quite stained by now. Then, I poured the antibiotic soap over the whole, sticky, smelly mess. I emptied the water bottle over it, scrubbing until I was up to my elbows in suds. Why didn't I ask Butler or Juliet? But I am Artemis Fowl the Second. I never back down. I kept rubbing, then went into my bathroom and refilled my bottle. Coming back, I poured it on, trying to wash the soap, caviar, and ants away. I kept pouring water on, until I heard Juliet coming up the stairs.

"Artemis? Artemis? What are you doing? I swear, it's raining downstairs! Water is coming through the floor! Are you ok?"

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_i think that this is just drabble, but anyway. did you like it? please review!!_

_sorry that it isn't that funny, but i'm really tired...enjoy anyway!_


	5. Chapter 5:Artemis vs Virus

Artemis vs. self-created computer virus.

(This is when Artemis is three.)

"Do not press go. Do not press stop. Do not breath. Do not move away from this desk. Your life depends on it. A bomb has been found in your computer. Trust me. I _am_ your computer after all. " I read, chuckling lightly over my newest creation. Mother walks in.

"Arty! Bed-time! Oh, good boy, you've figured out that new program Daddy bought you!" I roll my eyes.

"Daddy?" She shakes her head sadly.

"Your father, then." I shake my head resignedly at mymother's childishness, and walk to my bedroom.

_Four years later_

"Do not press go. Do not press stop. Do not breath. Do not move away from this desk. Your life depends on it. A bomb has been found in your computer. Trust me. I _am_ your computer after all. " I catch my breath. _I always knew macs were smart!_ I think to myself, holding my breath. _But what kind of bomb is detonated when you breath?_ Quickly, quietly, I open my special Mac tool case. I swiftly slide some rubber gloves on and crack the case of my Macbook with a special tool Butler bought me. I peer into the innards, searching for the bomb. My head feels light, and the room spins around me. I estimate that I have twenty more seconds.

Working fast, I pick my way through the tangle of chords and mechanisms. My hands grow shaky, and I see myself doing more damage than help to the delicate computer. _Come on! Should I get Butler? No, I can't move away! It said so!_ I frantically think. My vision become tunnely, and it takes the utmost

_a minute later_

I awaken to see my mother and Butler peering anxiously down at me.

"Artemis. Artemis, listen very closely," says Butler's gravelly tones.

"What is eighty nine divided by 106?" I roll my eyes. _Checking if my head is in order. Really. _I quickly run the numbers through my head. I'm a genius, but I'm seven years old for heaven's sake.

"point eight three nine six two two six four one five oh nine four-"

"Ok, ok, that's good," Mother quickly cuts me off.

"What happened?" Butler asks me, eyeing my computer. I look at it too.

"Oh my word. What on earth?" I say. My computer is a mess. The screen is black, and the bottom is ripped off. Wires and little gadgets are everywhere. I quietly sigh, and I realize my mistake.

"Oh dear," my mother says softly, "You seem to have out done yourself this time, Arty."

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Lol! Funny, neh?


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